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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25531384">eight figures, that's my type</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Formula 1 RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crack, M/M, and more of a character study exercise, not a self insert don't worry, this is just an inside joke with myself, this was very self indulgent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:27:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,445</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25531384</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Uh," George says eloquently, "did that guy just buy me a drink?"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>George Russell/Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>eight figures, that's my type</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i wrote this the day before a math final a couple of months ago in a stress induced haze and i figured i might as well post it. this was purely for my own enjoyment but hopefully someone else is also amused by the thought of george being thrown out of his comfort zone. </p><p>also this is vaguely set around alex and george's la trip last year. lando's there too for the hell of it.</p><p>title from my type by saweetie</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They're hanging around at the fancy hotel bar downstairs for a lack of anything better to do when the bartender sets a drink down in front of George. "This one's on him", she says, motioning over at a guy sitting a couple of feet down the bar. </p><p>George turns to look, as do Lando and Alex. He's definitely older than them, probably late twenties, early thirties. As if on cue, he glances over at them, raising his glass in acknowledgment before turning back to his friend with a slight smirk. </p><p>George isn't really sure how he should be feeling right now.</p><p>"Uh," he says eloquently, "did that guy just buy me a drink?"</p><p>"Well, clearly," Alex says, "the question is why, though."</p><p>"Maybe he's a fan?" Lando suggests.</p><p>"Well if he's a fan, why didn't he get us all drinks?" George takes a sip of the mystery cocktail. It goes down a bit bitter, but it's not bad. </p><p>"He's clearly into you, then," Lando says, shrugging and downing the toxic-waste-colored shot that he'd forced Alex to order for him. "I wish I had hot older guys buying me drinks," he says, pouting a little.</p><p>"Isn't that what Carlos is for?" Alex asks, turning back to stare at the mystery bloke and ignoring Lando's squawk of protest. "He's pretty fit if you ask me, probably loaded as well. Maybe he wants to be your sugar daddy."</p><p>"He looks like he's rich," Lando says, "Maybe he could buy you a better seat--"</p><p>George definitely does not turn red and instead punches Lando in the arm. "Oh, sod off. I'm not even into blokes, so it's not like it matters."</p><p>"You could be, though," Lando says cryptically, "How d'you know if you haven't tried it?"</p><p>George stares at him. "Mate, have you all lost your minds? When have I ever been into blokes?"</p><p>Alex and Lando exchange a look.</p><p>"Oh good, he's looking this way. Let's go talk to him," Alex says suddenly, and he and Lando proceed to frogmarch George across the bar before he has time to react.</p><p>"Hello, this is George. He'd like to thank you for the drink. Cheers, mate," Alex says, and then he and Lando promptly disappear, leaving George standing in front of this strange man who could easily be a serial killer or a drug trafficker or something equally as horrible. George needs to get better friends.</p><p>"Uh. Sorry about my friends." George says awkwardly. The bloke is pretty fit up close: well-groomed beard and nice arms accentuated by the sleeves of his button-up. If George was into that sort of thing, that is.</p><p>Mystery Bloke shares some sort of look with his friend, who promptly gets up and leaves with a small salute. George swallows audibly.</p><p>The bloke must notice whatever is going on with George's face because he laughs and gestures to the empty barstool. "Take a seat, I don't bite. You know, has anyone ever told you you look like Bambi with those eyes?"</p><p>George doesn't really know to respond to that. He mostly gets comparisons to Lord Farquaad or one of those creepy dolls or something. Mystery Bloke's still looking at him, so he puts on his best PR training and sticks out a hand. "I'm George."</p><p>"Nathan." He shakes George's hand with an amused grin. He has a firm grip and relatively dry palms, which is more than George can say for himself. </p><p>"Right. Um. Yeah. Thanks for the drink, then," George says, PR training flying out of the window.</p><p>"My pleasure." Nathan keeps giving him this look like he's smiling at a joke that George isn't in on, and George is starting to think that this is all part of an elaborate prank that Alex and Lando have set up, which would make a lot of sense, actually--</p><p>Nathan has to have noticed George's panicked expression, because he puts his drink down and laughs, eyes crinkling. He has very nice teeth, George notices, perfectly straight and shiny, kind of like that wolf in that kid's story--</p><p>"Hey, sorry about that. I was just teasing. I did want to get to know you better if that's ok with you."</p><p>"Uh. Yeah. Sure," George says, but only because he knows he should never miss an opportunity to network.</p><p>"So what do you do for a living, then?"  </p><p>George usually likes this question when he's trying to get on with girls, but he doesn't really want to talk about it right now. "I--uh, I'm a driver. Professional." He doesn't know what's wrong with his mouth. His communication skills are usually top tier.</p><p>"Like a chauffeur? Would explain the accent."</p><p>"Er--Formula 1, actually."</p><p>Nathan raises his eyebrows. "So this conversation we're having is probably going to be all over the tabloids tomorrow?" he asks.</p><p>George would prefer that to not be the case, but he thinks he's relatively safe here. Americans don't seem to care that much about Formula 1. Exhibit A: This Guy.</p><p>"I'd rather hope not," he says.</p><p>"Oh, why's that?"</p><p>George is trying his hardest not to blush. It's usually not a problem, he's not sure why his complexion is betraying him now of all times. </p><p>Nathan breaks into a grin again. "Sorry, couldn't help myself." He takes a sip of his drink, some sort of dark liquid in one of those fancy tumbler things, and turns to face George patiently.</p><p>It's one of the weirder interactions George's had in a while, Japanese fans included, and he's trying not to fidget too noticeably. "So. Um, what do you do?"</p><p>"I'm a lawyer, currently doing some intellectual property stuff at a private firm downtown."</p><p>"Oh, I've always been interested in that sort, it's pretty cool, patents and everything. My dad taught me a little about it when I was younger." George blinks. He's not too sure where that came from. Probably shouldn't be offering up too much information about himself. Stranger danger and all that.</p><p>Nathan peers curiously at him. "Really? Hm." He looks like he's about to say more but is cut off by his phone lighting up. He reads the text and rolls his eyes. </p><p>"I'm sorry to have to cut this short, but I promised I'd go pick my friend up if he got too drunk. Here, take this," he says, reaching into his wallet and pulling out a business card, scribbling something on the back with a pen from his shirt pocket.</p><p>It's a nice business card, cream-colored, heavyweight paper, crisp text. George turns it over and there's a number scrawled on the back. <i>414</i>.</p><p>"That's my room number. I'd like to chat more if you want to talk about patents or anything later tonight." He smiles at George and squeezes his shoulder with a big hand before walking away. "It was nice meeting you, George."</p><p>George can't seem to do anything except stare at the business card until Lando and Alex appear suddenly in his peripheral, suggesting that they probably didn't fuck off somewhere else and were watching them the whole time. George groans.</p><p>"What did he want to talk about?"</p><p>"Did he want to fuck, or what?"</p><p>"Lando, shut the hell up," George hisses, glancing around furtively to see if anyone's paying any attention. No one is. "And no, he didn't want to fuck. We were talking about patents."</p><p>"Of course you'd find the most boring thing in the world to talk about. What's this, then?" Lando steals the business card out of George's hand. "Ooh, a lawyer, fancy--" he turns the card over.</p><p>"Is that a room number?" Alex asks, peering down at the three digits. He looks up with an expression that George can only describe as glee. "He did want to fuck! George, you naughty boy!"</p><p>George thinks he's blushed more in the last thirty minutes than he has in the entire year. "No, hold on, it wasn't that, he told me he wanted to continue our conversation--"</p><p>Alex and Lando burst into giggles. "George. He doesn't want to talk about patents with you. It was an excuse to get you to his room," Lando says, with all the wisdom of someone who's never been in a relationship.</p><p>George huffs and snatches the business card back. "Oh my God, never mind. I can't take you two anywhere."</p><p>"So, are you going to his room later?" Alex asks, grinning.</p><p>"Of course not. Why would I do that? C'mon, let's go play some FIFA or something," George says. </p><p>He's tempted to just toss the card on the way out, but on second thought he tucks it into his back pocket. It's just a bit of networking, that's all.</p>
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